


Will You Take Care of Me?

by glackedandmullered



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Blood, Car Accidents, Hospitals, abilities au thing sort of i guess, all the things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glackedandmullered/pseuds/glackedandmullered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could pinpoint the exact moment the strange healing ability appeared. Living with it was another thing entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Take Care of Me?

“Michael.”

The voice is whiny and sharp behind him as Michael rolls his eyes and spins to see Gavin standing a foot from him, hand held out like he was waiting for an offering. There’s blood pooled in his palm and his other hand is underneath, catching the drips that leak over the edge to keep the floor from being blemished.

“Oh for fucks sake Gavin, what did you do this time?” Michael wonders aloud, standing up quickly to examine the cut. It’s about four inches long and deep too, pulsing out more blood every second.

“We were just playing,” Gavin explains, having no choice but to follow Michael across the path to the kitchen since he’s being dragged by his painful, injured hand. “I didn’t see the fence.”

His hand is under the faucet dripping blood into the sink before Michael finds the words to reply. It stings, as water passes over the gaping wound and Gavin gags pathetically at the sight of his skin wide open and torn. He hadn’t realised just how bad it had been, it hurt so much at first that the adrenaline had made him numb to it, but looking at it now he could basically see the tissue and muscle holding his hand together.

“It’s okay, don’t panic,” Michael assures as Gavin turns his head away, “I can fix this just like everything else. You’ll be fine.”

The wound fills up just as fast as it’s cleaned away but Michael manages to grab a second of clarity to start his work. His palm lays flat against Gavin’s so tightly that he can feel the pulsing of blood and the edges of the wound shifting.

He calmly rubs Gavin’s arm with his free hand to comfort the man while closing his eyes and letting his mind take over. The space between their palms feels like a vacuum, cold and tingling but as the seconds go by he feels the wound getting smaller, the edges pulling together, and pushing globs of blood through the gaps between their fingers.

Swaying forward he catches himself using Gavin as a crutch and opens his eyes to see the Brit tugging his hand back.

The wound is gone, the hand only smeared with blood now, wet and flaky at the edges. Gavin wrinkles his nose in disgust and throws his hand under the stream of cold water, smiling his thanks to Michael as the red runs clear and all that’s left on his hand is a line of fresh, pink skin, slightly puckered but that’ll go down with the swelling.

“Try being more careful next time,” Michael says, cleaning off his own hands as Gavin disappears back into the office and calling out after him, “I won’t always be there to hold your hand, Gav!”

“I think you have to be,” Miles comments from the benches. Michael didn’t notice him sitting there but then again his attention had been rather focused on something else. He feels a little spacey, like _he’d_ just lost a shit load of blood, not Gavin.

It must have shown on his face because Miles points to the seat across from him and Michael totters over, dropping onto the wooden bench with a sigh.

“Just once I don’t wanna be the one patching him up.”

 

Miles gives him a look like he was the dumbest person on earth.

“Why would he bother going to a clinic when he has his very own personal healer sitting right next to him at all times?”

“Just once,” Michael repeats in a small voice.

All Miles can think to say in reply is, “Hide next time, bud.”

\---

It had been a hell of a shock to his family when the ability first manifested. It couldn’t be explained, didn’t have any scientific grounds for existing; and yet Michael at fourteen years old was vanishing cuts and scrapes like they were wrong answers on a test being wiped away with an eraser.

He could pinpoint the exact moment the strange healing ability appeared.

He’d never been good at skateboarding but he owned one anyway, and his brothers used to skip out in the night to ride down a hill just at the back of their house. It was a long expanse of straight road that was perfect for getting some major speed. Why Michael agreed to duck out at 1am with them he’d never know but they set him up to go first, one foot on the skateboard the other placed firmly on the ground where he’d rather both feet be.

A nudge from his oldest brother sent him on his unstoppable ride down the slope, hands shaking and knees wobbling as he fought to keep his balance. Having skated down a couple of streets in his entire life he was nowhere near prepared for the moment he hit a patch of uneven ground towards the bottom of the slope where the road levelled off. The wheels caught in tiny holes in the ground, causing Michael to wobble but his efforts were no use and he hit one too many holes, flying off the skateboard and skidding across the rough ground for a number of feet before rolling into the grass and laying there, stunned.

He didn’t hear his brothers careening down the hill at top speed (running, thank god, not skateboarding) he was in too much pain. The adrenaline wore off unbelievably quickly as he lay flat on his face, chewing chunks of grass between his teeth to distract him from the stinging tug of agony washing down his left side.

There was a hand on his back, gingerly shaking him while a voice accompanied the surprisingly gentle touches.

He could recognise his name being called over and over, the muted, muffled words clearing up as the shock began to seep away and he groaned back just to let them know he was still alive.

“Woah, that’s gnarly.”

It took five seconds after sitting up to see what his brother was staring at. His entire right side was _torn up_. Skin scraped away in huge patches all over his shoulder, leg, even his torso just below the ribs.

“ _Ow,”_ Michael whined, breathing heavily to disperse the waves of pain washing over him, “Fucking ow guys this really hurts.”

He was eternally grateful that his brothers disregarded the tears welling up and spilling over his reddened cheeks.

“Mom’s gonna _kill_ us,”

Michael’s hands were shaking with fine tremors as he hovered one over the wound on his ribs, too scared to touch it when all of a sudden his hand felt weird, almost like it was vibrating. He drew it back and the feeling stopped but it was there again when he lowered his fingers close to the scraped up skin once more.

“Michael? You good bro?” one of his brothers asked warily but Michael didn’t look up. His skin was starting to tingle now too, numbing under the vibrations of his hand and there, right before his eyes, the skin started to patch itself up.

Like something out of a sci-fi movie the layers pinked up and spread flat over the bloodied wound, filling in the gaps of missing skin with fresh milky white, and in under a minute his ribs looked like there had never been anything there at all. His brothers had gone silent, sitting behind him with open mouths and shock in their eyes as Michael hesitantly lowered his hand over his leg, watching with nothing short of bewilderment as the skin patched itself up there too. Followed by his shoulder and finally his forearm.

He was shaky as he stood but there was no pain.

“What the _fuck_ dude?” the oldest whispered, backing away with hands raised almost as if he was _afraid_.

After that they hurried him around the corner, back to the house, sprinting the whole way until they were through the front door, winded and staring at Michael like he was some sort of alien.

He might be.

His mom refused to believe it when they woke her. She scolded them for going out, especially with Michael when someone could have been hurt.

“Someone _was_ hurt, mom, _Michael.”_ His brother argued. “But it just disappeared! Blood and everything!”

She dismissed it and sent them to bed, promising that they would be grounded for a year if they didn’t get their asses straight to sleep.

It took a month and a mishap at school before his mom saw the ability in action and he was locked in his bedroom for three days. They didn’t mean to hurt him, they were just scared. Michael was too.

\---

After that he started testing himself, seeing how far the ability would stretch. He found out that he could heal broken bones on top of cuts and bruises, though they took a little longer to completely vanish, a soreness settling in for a day or two but it was nothing compared to the weeks that he was told. Cracked ribs would straighten out in seconds and feel like nothing after a couple of nights sleep.

Then he discovered that the healing transferred to others too. Just as easily he healed up his brothers scrapping injuries. His father had a heart attack just before Michael’s sixteenth birthday and Michael jump started his heart like a personal defibrillator before the paramedics could even get out of the hospital bay. Probably.

He tried to find others like him but they just didn’t exist. He googled it, typing in all kinds of nonsense ‘ _people with healing powers’_ even ‘ _real life superheroes?’_ but all that came up was a slew of heroic doctors and stories about normal people doing extraordinary acts of bravery.  Nothing abnormal, nothing like Michael.

\---

“Don’t tell anyone,” his mom says once she clears him to go outside again. He tries to tell her that he’s fourteen not five and he’s not stupid but she only scoffs and hurries him out of the door.

He manages to keep it to himself for a long time, almost eight years in fact; but suddenly he’s in Texas living his dream surrounded by _the most_ disastrous bunch of people he had ever met in his life and his special trick didn’t stay quiet for long.

Gavin lies on the floor, hissing out pain filled breaths and sucking in wheezes through his teeth while he cradles his (surely broken) arm to his chest. Ryan’s fussing over him while Geoff grumbles about being more careful and getting what he deserves and Michael’s hands tingle, like their itching to fix the Brit.

It’s with a sudden burst of bravery (and stupidity) that he surges forwards and places his large hands over the bruising skin.

Gavin cries out unsurely and Michael snaps, “Sit still, idiot, I’m helping.”

He doesn’t miss the sharp gasp from Gavin as the Brit felt a heat through his skin before the pain disappeared completely, he also doesn’t miss Ryan’s shocked exclamation, his eyes darting from the arm to Michael and back again.

Silence rules.  

“Um...tada?” he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck to dispel the tingling in his fingers. He carries on laughing awkwardly until their gormless expressions stop him.

“So...I can heal people,” he says simply.

\---

After his confession the knowledge of his ability quickly spread through the office. No one believed it at first of course, everyone assuming it was just another prank from the achievement hunter office, but a few demonstrations over time brought everyone around to acknowledging the truth.

And soon everyone wanted a piece of him.

Which would have been so bad if they'd given him a break every now and again but no, instead he seemed to spend every day trailing around the office healing up bruises and cuts that could have easily been avoided but they didn't have to worry about the aftermath anymore.

A paper cut here, a bruised knee there, it all added up and Michael found himself realising that his mother had been right. He never should have told anyone.

\---

“Uh- Michael you okay?” Michael snaps back to himself to see Miles looking at him unsurely.

Michael smiles, nods, says, "Yeah of course," and shakes off the twinge of a headache that's starting to bloom at the back of his skull.

Miles frowns as he points at Michael's face and then to the table, “Your nose is bleeding.”

Sure enough there are spots of blood on the table and on the tips of his fingers as Michael touches the skin above his lip. He wipes the blood on the back of his hand, probably smearing it disgustingly and gets up to grab a wad of paper towels to stem the flow.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Miles stand, hovering nervously close.

"You sure you're okay?" He asks with uncertainty, wrinkling his nose up at the blood on the paper towel that has soaked through to the back.

"Mhm," Michael hums through the paper, screwing it up and tossing it aside with surprising accuracy. It lands in the open trash can and disappears amongst the banana skins and yoghurt pots.

The blood has stopped, his ability doing most of the work but it wasn't much of a heavy flow to start with, it could have stopped on its own without his help. In hindsight he should have let it.

"Not gonna die from a little nosebleed, man," he assures because Miles still looks uneasy. "Especially not me, right?"

Miles hums and a second later there's a glass of water sliding across the counter into Michael's hand.

"You don't have to take care of me you know." Michael jokes.

Miles shrugs and smiles, "Someone has to," he says.

At one time Michael might have thought that _someone_ would be one of his boyfriends. One of his five boyfriends who spent almost 24 hours a day with him (bar Ray who he saw in the morning, night, and maybe some lunches if he had time) he thought they would notice him lagging on some days when it seemed that the whole studio was an accident waiting to happen.

But they were so enamoured with the relentlessly exciting fact that a single touch could heal them from -potentially- anything that they barely ever even stopped to notice. Even Jack was starting to loosen up and get a little more daring since he stopped needing to be quite as careful.

He can't blame them. He loves them.

As long as they, and his friends, are all safe, healthy and happy then he can cope with a nosebleed and a tingling headache every now and again. He’s okay.

That’s what he’ll keep telling himself as he wipes the drying blood from his lip, says goodbye to Miles, and creeps back into the office. He slips into his chair without anyone noticing.

\---

He questions how accident prone one person can be when Gavin enters the house in Jacks arms. He’s got his arms hanging loosely around the man’s neck, legs dangling over the arm tucked under his knees.

“He’s busted his ankle,” Jack says with a roll of his eyes, dumping Gavin unceremoniously onto the couch.

Less than 24 hours have passed since Michael healed up Gavin’s hand, he’s still dragging from that, not to mention the string of bumps and bruises he’d spent the whole day darting from room to room trying to clean up. He’s thinking about quitting and moving to a chainsaw factory, there’d probably be fewer accidents.

“How did you do it this time?” Michael asks in a bored voice, hands already hovering over the joint between his skin and his foot. Through the skin Michael can feel the damage, more than a sprain, less than a break. A fracture grinding painfully under the skin.

“I was-”

“He was trying to jump the studio roofs,” Jack interrupts Gavin before he can lie, a look of disapproval plain across his features.

“What the fuck, Gavin?” Ray says. Michael prefers to say nothing, focusing his energy instead on shifting the bones back into place, sealing up the crack; he can feel the pulsing of a bruise on Gavin’s shoulder and he heals that up too.

“I filmed it,” Gavin replies as if that makes it better.

Ray scoffs and stands, huffing as he slinks towards the kitchen, “You can deal with him,” he says towards the rest of the room as a whole.

“What’s wrong with him?” Gavin pouts dumbly, giving his ankle a few test stretches in the seconds after Michael removed his hands, signalling that he’s done. His head throbs; once, painfully, and he disguises his slump backwards with a layer of annoyance.

"You've gotta stop with this reckless shit, Gav," he says, weaker than he’s used to, a little defeated.

" _Why_?" Gavin whines through his pouting. "You can always save me, Michael!"

"I can't save you from death, idiot," shaking his head, Michael turns desperate eyes to his boyfriends for help. He’s met with shrugging and then Geoff, annoyingly, sucks in a thoughtful breath.

"Have you ever tried?"

Head shaking once, firmly, Michael scolds Geoff, "No,” then points to Gavin, “And don't even think about testing it!"

He’s snapping, he knows it’s not fair and guilt tugs at his heart at the wounded look that crosses Gavin’s face. But he’s feeling irritable and frustrated in light of his busy day and no one in the room is really helping his mood.

“Sorry,” he scrubs a hand over his hair and laughs humorlessly, “You guys are just- the whole office, you’re one giant accident waiting to happen and I can’t be there for every little thing. It’s tiring, following you around all day hoping no one bumps into something or falls over stray cables, and then there _you_ are, jumping off fucking roofs like you’re invincible,” to his defence Gavin does let the casual, dopey grin wipe from his face just for a second, clearly feeling guilty. “I just wish you’d give me a break every now and again, you know?”

The others sit in stunned silence at his rant, looking guilty and shifting uncomfortably until Michael sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes. If he can’t heal them- what is he even around for?

“I’m ­ _fine_ ,” he assures them, moving away from Gavin, away from all of them. “I think I’ll just sleep early, I’m tired.”

He’s mostly happy that no one follows him as he makes his way to the stairs. Jack says something behind him but he’s not really listening because he can feel something warm in his nose, followed by a trickle of fluid that wets his upper lip, making Michael question whether two nosebleeds in one day could possibly be a bad omen.

\---

By the middle of the week Michael wishes he had just owned up to his feelings and asked for a break.

The first couple of days had been quiet, just a little here and there. Though the nosebleeds had stopped, there was a lingering dizziness that followed him everywhere-his head took a few seconds to catch up to his movements, leaving him disoriented when he wasn’t sat at his desk editing.

Wednesday though, shit hits the fan on Wednesday in every department, every building and room, it’s a disaster.

Blaine is sick, a chesty cough heavy in his lungs and exhaustion smudging dark circles under his eyes. Michael holds a tingling hand to the space between Blaine’s collar bones, the other to his forehead and feeds his energy through the skin until the paleness pinks to a more healthy color and heavy breathing regulates back to normal.

Michael waves off Blaine’s thanks, rubbing at a sore spot between his eyes. He feeds a little energy into himself and sighs with relief.

Before lunch can happen Barbara had accosted him into her office and there's a thick gash down her right leg, her tights are torn and tattered around the wound and there are pain filled tears streaming down her cheeks. He speaks softly as his hands do their magic, stitching the wound with invisible thread, closing it until it's nothing more than a thick white line which he assures her will fade in the next few days.

He tries hard to brush off the simpler requests that pepper him like rain. _Michael do this, Michael do that, Michael I was stupid and now I have a boo-boo,_ following him around like lambs from the moment he arrived at the office.

Replies of _No_ and _not now_ are met with sad faces and disappointment that tugs at Michael’s heart, and strums guilt through his head until he calls them back and fixes everything, just like he should, just like he’s meant to.

Then, on top of everything, disaster strikes.

\---

“MICHAEL!”

He hears the screeching through the walls before the door can even burst open and Gavin is standing before him panting, red faced, eyes wide with terror.

“Gavin wha-”

“Help! Come now!”

Michael, of course, jumps up without question, leaving his chair spinning behind him as he takes off through the building with his boyfriend.

Michael reaches out, grabbing hold of Gavin’s wrist, panic growing when the Brit doesn’t even slow down slightly.

“Gavin!” He pants, “ _What’s going on_?”

They burst through the door, sunlight blinding Michael for a second before he sees it and suddenly Gavin’s words aren’t needed but he says it anyway.

“Someone hit Geoff!”

\---

Ray races out to meet them halfway across the parking lot.

“They just came out of nowhere!” he cries out, shaking violently and Michael makes a mental note to see to him later for shock, he shouldn’t have even been at the studio and this is what he had to see. “They were going so fast!”

A small crowd has gathered at the gates, obviously trying to keep a respectful distance but far too curious to walk away completely. Jack is crying, tears streaming down his face as he fights to keep them back, _begging_ them to turn around and give him some privacy. His face lights up with relief when his eyes lock with Michael’s and in seconds Michael is being hustled through the small crowd, his heart skipping a beat the second he sees what the crowd had been hiding.

Geoff is lying on the ground, half on, half off the curb. Blood pools under his back, running like a river into the gutter and there’s more blood beneath his head; his right arm looks unnaturally bent, as limp and motionless as the rest of the man.

“Did you call 911?” Michael asks once he sees the phone in Ryan’s hand.

He shakes his head minutely, shifting back on his knees, “You’re here.”

It takes all of Michael’s courage to reply, “Call them anyway.”

He’s never fixed up this much damage before; he’s not entirely sure if he can.

\---

He collapses to his knees beside Geoff, hands tugging hairs out of his head because there’s _so much_ he doesn’t even know where to start. There’s no time to lose as his hands find their place on the only part of Geoff’s chest that is free of bruising.

Focusing his energy down Geoff’s right arm it only takes a minute for the angled bones to click back into place. It looks gruesome as hell, watching joints and splinters move around underneath the skin - he can see a particular spot where the bone had been dangerously close to protruding from the skin but it’s still inside, still held together. A loud _crack_ reverberates through the air and Gavin darts away, gagging painfully. Someone else can deal with him; it’s superficial, it’s a jerk reflex, he’ll be fine.

The bruises beneath his hands are slowly starting to fade to pale white when he feels the first wave of dizziness. He lists left and shrugs off the hand that reaches out to keep him upright, ignores the concerned question that follows and forces himself to stay upright, locking his knees.

With all the energy he’s used up on everyone else that day the healing process is slow, too slow, too damn slow and Michael needs to pour every drop he has left into fixing Geoff’s main problems before he inevitably passes out.

Losing consciousness has been something Michael has only experienced once in his life. Back when he was younger, weaker, the day his brother fell from the roof while sealing up the hole leaking rainwater into their Mothers bedroom. A broken arm, cracked ribs, and a little concussion had taken everything out of Michael and he woke up on the couch three hours later with an icepack on his head and an entire bottle of orange juice waiting for him.

He was stronger now, he was capable of a lot more, never having to push his limits to find out just how much his own body could take. Until now. His limits were truly being tested in this moment.

He’s startled when fresh blood begins to layer atop Geoff’s. It lands in thick drips onto Geoff’s chest and dribbles down bruised skin.

_Did I miss something? Was someone else hurt? Where is this-_

“Michael,” someone says from behind, close to him, “You’re bleeding.”

It hadn’t occurred to him for a second that the blood could be coming from him. Specifically his nose. Now that it’s been pointed out to him he can feel it, streaming steadily down his lips, dripping off his face onto Geoff. He turns his head to the side and smears the blood on his shoulder; it’s immediately replaced but he’s made his effort.

There are still injuries to fix, hell his head is still trying to calculate the parts he’s missed. _Head, neck, chest—arms, legs, ribs—hips, back-_ There are so many parts, 206 bones to identify and analyse; muscles, cartilage, organs-

“He’s okay, you can stop now,” a voice interrupts as his breathing turns laborious.

“No, no,” Michael whispers feverishly, “he’s not okay yet.”

There’s still a broken rib to fix, still some bruising down his side and the concussion needs another minute. There’s a lot to heal and he’s not doing it _fast_ enough.

Hands try to pull him away and he dizzily moves with them until he snaps back to himself and fights it, loose hands stiffening as he locks his elbows in place.

“Michael, he’s _okay_ ,” someone, sounds like Ryan, insists. He’s being pulled away again, faster than he can fight against. His head spins, his hands shaking too much to hold himself straight so Ryan props him up as he falls backwards.

Through his haze of blurry vision he sees movement by his knees, hears a sob of relief to the side and sees Geoff blinking up at him; confused but _alive_.

Adrenaline abruptly dropped its hold on Michael’s body, snuffed out like a candle leaving Michael swaying, dazed and heavy headed.

Ray kneels before him, between Michael and Geoff, blocking the older man from Michael’s view. His lips are forming words but no sound is coming out. It’s weird, Michael can’t figure out why he can’t just speak out loud, until it hits him that there’s no sound _anywhere._ Everything is in dead silence.

“I don’t feel…” he says. The weak vibration in his throat tells him that he’s whispering but no sound reaches his ears.

The last thing he sees is Ray reach forward in panic before his sight abruptly cuts to black.

\---

Consciousness crawls back to Michael in painfully slow increments.

The first time there’s a cluster of voices talking very quickly and a flashlight in his eyes, blinding but not entirely painful, in fact he’s only awake long enough to hear a voice he doesn’t recognise say his name too close to his ear before he’s dragged back under.

The next time is a little different and he’s alone. He feels fuzzy, like he’s made of static and could break apart in a moment; the walls are vibrating and he’s cold. He tries to move his arms but he can’t, can only open his eyes half way if he tries really hard. Eventually he stops trying at all and lets his eyes close.

“Hey, Michael,” Ryan says gently as he wakes for the third time, “you with us now?”

The ceiling is really white, he notes, it could snow. He tells Ryan as such.

Ryan laughs, “Okay, not so with us,” he turns around and Ray is there, grinning and shaking his head.

Michael isn’t sure what’s funny but he manages a weak smile anyway before he blinks and everything fades.

\---

Apparently five hours passed between Michael collapsing in the parking lot and finally fully waking up in a hospital bed with more wires than skin and a steady beeping that would be ingrained in his mind for weeks to come.

“Exhaustion, dehydration, fever,” Jack reels off from memory, “why didn’t you tell us that this hurts _you?”_

Michael stares blankly back at him from his spot on the bed; upset, frustrated, disappointed that they had figured it out.

“I’m- It doesn’t.”

He’s met with disapproving eyes and quickly turns his statement around, “I didn’t know it would be so bad.”

Ryan, who is stood in the corner with his arms folded over his chest and a stern expression on his face, scoffs, “Try explaining that to Geoff. He’s not happy that you hurt yourself for him.”

Geoff. He hasn’t seen anything of Geoff yet. The man’s name had been the first word on his lips as he dragged himself into consciousness but he didn’t find out anything until over an hour later, when the doctors _finally_ let his boyfriends into the room.

“It shouldn’t have happened, it was just too much.”

Everyone looks so _angry_ as they shake their heads and regard him. They look disappointed and tired and, although he knows it must have been hard for them to see Geoff get so hurt and then Michael pass out, he feels almost insulted that they would complain about him _saving Geoff’s life._

“Why did you push yourself so far if you knew it was hurting you?” Ryan asks.

“I-”

“You fucking passed out, it was _terrifying.”_ Gavin says, swallowing up Michael’s words.

“But I-”

Voices layer over voices, each trying to get their question heard. Through the cotton in his brain it all sounds the same; one big, loud booming racket that strikes like lightning and he wishes they would step back a little bit because he can’t think, he can’t hear, he can’t-

“Because he was _dying!”_ Michael shrieks, voice cracking painfully and he can feel his face heating up as everyone goes silent. He breathes in and out, in and out, and his boyfriends have the common sense not to say anything while he calms his raging heart rate that beeps violently on the monitors.

“Because he would have died,” he repeats, slower this time, more controlled. “Do you guys not understand that? Geoff was dying and you’re all acting like I shouldn’t have done anything to save him!”

Gavin swallows audibly and croaks out, “The Ambulance...”

“Wouldn’t have arrived in time,” Michael finishes for him, “he would have been dead long before they could get out of the fucking _hospital_.”

In the minutes (and hours) that follow Michael’s statement, he finds himself really wishing that he could get out of the bed and take a walk away from the awkward silence. Luckily the others do that for him.

\---

Hospitals, Michael decides, are far more boring than the movies make them seem. He's on a ward, far from the ER, across the building from any action. The most he sees is an old guy from the room over being taken into early surgery, fucking woo-hoo. The whole place smells like antiseptic with an underlying staleness that drifts in with the breeze from the windows that are never closed.

After Michael’s admission, Gavin had announced that he needed to get out of the room, the air was too thick with the tension of their realisation and he had looked pretty green. Ryan had followed him out without a second thought and a minute of silence later had Jack joining the two of them.   


Ray sits in the corner, legs dangling over the edge of the hospital brand padded chair that’s been pulled up close to Michael’s bed while he slept. The TV that sits quite precariously on a bracket protruding from the wall is well and truly busted to hell, barely flickering static when Ray attempts to cut through the silence between them.

“The one in Geoff’s room works fi-” he huffs, cutting himself off as he sees the flicker of guilt in Michael’s eyes. “You didn’t hit him with the car,” he says bluntly, “it wasn’t your fault.”

“I couldn’t do anything,” Michael says sadly.

Ray’s mouth drops open and he’s unsure what to say but settles with, “Couldn’t do- you saved his life, Michael, you said that earlier.”

“I couldn’t do _enough.”_ Michael growls back, his anger focused more internally than ex.

Ray shakes his head and stands, the remote dropping onto the foot of Michael’s bed, “You beat yourself up too much,” he says with a sigh, leaving Michael alone to his thoughts.

They all came back before Geoff did.

\---

After spending the last few hours undergoing a litany of tests and examinations, Geoff was pretty frustrated by the time he showed up in the hospital room – wheelchair bound being pushed by a nurse who had no intention of hanging around.

He explains that the doctors just _couldn't_ understand how a man who had been hit by a car at fuck-off speed had come out of it with a couple of bruised ribs and a minor concussion.  He doesn’t seem to notice the tension that has settled so thickly in the air once he comes back that it would take a hell of a storm to clear it.

“Nurse thinks I have a guardian angel,” he laughs, clutching his side with a hiss as he does, “fuck ribs, man, can’t do anything.”

Guilt bubbles up inside Michael with ferocity, “Lemme-lemme fix that,” he tries meekly, peeling the covers away from his legs so he can sit up, already feeding energy into his hands.

Geoff looks almost offended, shaking his head before deciding that was definitely not a great idea, noticeably swaying in his chair before digging his thumb into his temple, "Don’t you dare," he grinds out, “you keep those hands away from me.”

It’s Michael’s turn to flash offense across his face and he buries his fingers into the flimsy mattress.

“You’re in the _hospital_ because you healed me,” Geoff continues, softer this time seeing the hurt in his boyfriend’s eyes. “I can deal with a bruised rib or two, you need to take a break.”

Michael shakes his head in stunned silence for a second or two, they don’t understand, “No, I _have_ to help, let me heal you.”

While his free hand reaches up, gesturing Geoff closer, Geoff moves his chair back. “No.”

“It’s nothing, I can do it.” Michael insists.

“No, Michael, you stay over there.”

Michael hadn’t noticed he had been subconsciously edging further off the bed, the IV line straining from the angle. “ _Please.”_

His pleading tone shoots straight over five heads and Ryan slides in front of Geoff almost like he’s protecting him. (The irony is not lost on him; protect him from a healer, what a riot.)

“ _Ryan_.” He presses, feeling the tape pull on the hairs of his forearm as the line strains even more.

The man in question shakes his head minutely, “Why is this such a big deal? We’re trying to take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Michael says through gritted teeth. Anger rises from the pit of his stomach and he lets it, allowing it to flood through his body and take over for him because they weren’t fucking listening. “I think that’s obvious, right?”

Sensing the oncoming storm, Ray stands, moving close enough to the bed to leap in front of Michael if he- what did Ray think he was going to do? “You shouldn’t have to; let us take it once in a while.”

Michael scoffs, feeling suddenly vulnerable basically tied to a bed while the others could loom over him, powerful. “Yeah sure, because I’m perfectly able to say no.”

Hurt, confusion, concern; they flit from face to face until Michael squirms in discomfort.

“Why would you say that?” Jack approaches slowly.

“ ** _Because this is the only thing I’m good for!_** ” With a frustrated scream Michael leaps from the bed, tearing the IV line feeding saline into his veins clean from his arm. Pain rockets through the limb and blood splatters, spurts, and gushes down his forearm like a river but he doesn’t care. He has to get away.

The others look horrified, staring at his arm in shock until he gives in and lets his healing do the work, sealing the gaping hole but leaving the blood untouched. There’s a little pain under the surface, his skin will probably bruise but he ensures he won’t bleed out on the linoleum.

His breathing is heavy, feeling the effects of a raised pulse rate and the use of his ability so soon after a complete body shut down.  The sound of rattled breaths scrapes up and down the walls as he turns his head to the ground and curses himself.

“Michael…” Jack breaks the silence, stepping forward and looking more than a little put out when he attempt at comfort was shrugged off and Michael backed up against the wall.

“Don’t-” Michael whispers feverishly, wrapping his arms around his chest. “Just don’t touch me.”

Nobody knows what to do, it’s clear. Ragequit was a persona, something for the internet to enjoy but this was real; this was a pure, real emotion and they were all suddenly out of their depths.

“I need some air.”

\---

Surprisingly, no one immediately follows him in the aftermath. He gets a couple of strange glances from patients – probably due to the crusting blood marring his skin and the front of his gown – but manages to avoid all staff as he slips into a storage closet and slides to the ground.

The smell of antiseptic burns his nostrils, the hardness of the wall crushing into his spine but he daren’t move. He’s made a fool of himself, a complete and utter fool. He’s an embarrassment.  Not for a second has he even entertained the thought that he’s only good for one thing, yet somewhere inside him the thought has stayed dormant and now it won’t leave him alone.

RoosterTeeth was full of intelligent, well taught people; people with creativity in their blood and talent beyond reasonable compare. Michael yells, Michael...screams. Comedic relief at the very most. Why had he been kept around so long? Because he’s a walking ER, clearly.

Before he can derail himself into a depressing train of thought that can wait for another day, there’s a knock on the door. Could be a nurse, an orderly, someone telling him to get the fuck out and stop contaminating their storage space; instead, it’s Jack. He peeks around before settling his sights on Michael and his eyes immediately soften in pity.

He leans on the door frame and folds his arms over his broad chest as he says, “You’re fucking incredible you know that?”

“Gee, thanks, Jack,” Michael replies, wincing as the weight of disappointment threatens to crush him again. Jack see’s the impact his words make and cringes, dropping down to his knees.

“I’m not being sarcastic,” Jack promises, “I mean it, you’re incredible.”

Michael laughs humorlessly, it’s dark and wet with tears, “I freaked out and splattered you with my blood,” he says dryly, gesturing to the spots of said blood that speckle Jack’s shirt.

“You made Gavin dry heave,” Jack laughs, taking a risk as he reaches out and places a hand on Michael’s knee. He feels the flinch but Michael doesn’t pull away so he keeps his hand there.  

“Changing temperatures make Gavin dry heave, it’s not a difficult feat,” Michael says quietly but he smiles and it makes Jack smile back even wider.

“Touche.”

The silence to follow between them is almost awkward, mainly aching. It’s punctuated by footsteps and voices outside and Michael wonders just how long they can stay there until someone on the staff really does come in to fetch supplies and finds them there, tells them to leave. He’s kind of done with feeling like he has no control for a little while, would definitely prefer making his own decision about when to move.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” he says after a while.

Jack falls down to sit beside him, his knees are red and indented with the gravelled pattern of the floor.

“No _, I’m_ sorry,” his hands shoot up to stop Michael’s interruption, “ _We’re_ sorry.”

“We’ve pushed you too far, I know that now,” Jack continues once Michael says nothing, his chin resting on his knees now, close enough for Jack’s hand to brush his skin.

Michael jolts, shaking his head firmly, “No, you never could, you-”

“You passed out.” Jack interrupts, “You landed yourself in hospital because you didn’t feel like you could say no to your friends, your _boyfriends,_ and that’s our fault.”

Michael uncurls, knocking Jack’s hand away, scoffing in frustration. At himself? Everything? He settles on saying, “What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t use my ability to help, it’s not like everyone is walking around with these...magic hands is it?”

Jack nods, “True, but we could have dealt with the situation better.”

Trying to lighten the mood, Michael says, “I’m a situation?”

Unfortunately it doesn’t sit well with Jack and he frowns, ducking his head like the guilt is _literally_ weighing him down.

“Don’t do that, Michael. You’re a human being with limits and I think we all forgot that.”

Michael shrugs “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Clearly it does,” Jack replies softly, “We let you feel like a tool. I’m _sorry_.”

The way he says it screams _don’t fight me on this_ and Michael shuts right up, accepting the apology with a smile that glows. Jack smiles back, calming, soothing, and slips his hand into Michael’s.

Michael wants to argue, deep down he knows it’s not his fault, he wants to believe that it’s not anyone’s fault but he knows it’s theirs. It isn’t _anyones._ He should have said something earlier, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything about his ability at all; maybe he should have listened to his mother, let Gavin suffer through the broken arm all that time ago. But they shouldn’t have asked so much of him--should have seen that it was too much.

Maybe it was a little bit of everyone’s fault.

“Wanna go back? I think the nurse will want to put that back again,” Jack points at the dried blood.

They both seem to realise at the same time that his secret might be out to more than just his friends very shortly. He should have a hole in his arm, bleeding, deep; the skin is clear aside from the blossoming bruise under the surface.

Within a minute Jack has stood up, ripped open a pack of gauze and has it taped to the crook of Michael’s elbow, wrapping it tightly (but not too tight) with a fresh white bandage. He was probably well enough to be discharged--or to discharge himself, it wouldn’t have to fool anyone.

Michael smiles and allows himself to be pulled to his feet, lets Jack enclose him in a solid bear hug for all of five seconds before he pushes him away and opens the door. A nurse looks at them both, shocked but they both smile and don’t say a word as they walk off down the hallway, hand in hand.

\---

Gavin jumps up from the bed when Michael stepped through the door, rounding the bed as smoothly as he can but his gangly legs tangle around themselves in his haste and he stumbles, falling flat onto his face next to Michael’s feet. He groans, rolling over with both hands clutching his nose.

Michael helps him to his feet and quickly holds a hand out to the rapidly growing lump that made his already comically large nose even bigger. Someone shuffles forward and there’s a hand on his shoulder that he promptly shrugs off, grinning.

“It’s _okay_ , a little now and then won’t hurt.”

Gavin’s breathing catches as the energy flows through him and the pain lessens, the swelling disappears to nothing and a sheepish expression replaces discomfort.

“Sorry, Michael.” He ventures quietly, glancing up through his lashes.

Rolling his eyes, Michael cups the back of Gavin’s head and pulls him in, “You’re an idiot,” he mumbles against the Brit’s forehead.

“I’ll be a more careful idiot?”

Geoff’s trademark laugh cut over them, “That’ll be the fucking day.”

It’s Geoff’s hand on his shoulder, Ray’s arm around his waist as they pull tightly together in a tender embrace. No more words are spoken between them as they stand there tangled together not knowing where one person ended and another begins.

Michael breathes in the scent of Gavin’s hair, two days free of washing and unmistakably him; and he knows without any doubt that they were going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed this self indulgent blood fest!
> 
> chat with me on my tumblr at [mogartrash](http://www.mogartrash.tumblr.com)


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